


And Often There's Rain

by colls



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colls/pseuds/colls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pre-series, written for the <a href="http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/60722.html?thread=2860850&format=light#cmt2860850">fic_promptly</a> prompt: 'Sam left for Stanford, now Dad's gone too'</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Often There's Rain

Dean stepped out of the Impala and carried a fast food bag, a newspaper and a six-pack towards the last room on the left. Removing the 'Do Not Disturb' tag from the handle, he unlocked the motel room door and went inside, shaking off the rain. He set down the food and beer, tossed his damp coat on the nearest bed and kicked off his shoes. With a satisfied smile, he cracked open a beer and dived into his cheeseburger.

While eating his french fries, he stared at his leather jacket. Or, rather his father's leather jacket. He idly thought he should probably hang it up before Dad got back or he'd certainly comment on how Dean didn't take care of things.

But Dad hadn't been back in days. He'd disappeared again without a word. Told Dean he'd be in touch. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Why wouldn't he answer his cell phone? Didn't he care that Dean was worried?

Dean crumpled up the remains of his greasy dinner and opened his second beer. He was getting sick and tired of this motel room, not to mention bored. Oh my god how he was bored. He'd hadn't talked to anyone other than his car in days and the weapons in the trunk had never been in this good of shape.

Not even the pimple-faced kid at the convenience store would look him in the eye anymore. Not after he'd bought skin mags and made small talk. Of course, he'd gotten back to the room and realized he'd purchased 'Playgirl' instead of 'Playboy'… yeah, looking back, that might've had something to do with it.

He will swear to his dying day that it was an honest mistake. He was careful to destroy the evidence, at least.

Well, after a couple days.

What? He was bored.

It's not like anyone would ever find out, so what was the big deal?

Anyway, back to being stuck here. Dad used to pull this shit when Dean was younger, but he'd at least had something to do then. Take care of Sam. Maybe pick on Sam. At least talk to Sam. Now Sam was off at college and wouldn't take his calls.

Sam said he was trying to start a new life. Said he didn't want to hear Dean talk about ghouls and ghosts. Didn't want to hear Dean tell tall tales about the waitress in Omaha or the receptionist in Boise. Didn't care that Dean had tried using synthetic oil in the Impala and it'd been a disaster and dear god don't tell Dad I did that.

Dean hated being alone. But he also hated to admit it, so he focused his thoughts elsewhere. He pulled out the newspaper and, like he had every day for the past week, he looked for a hunt. Regardless of what he found, he decided he'd leave tomorrow. Maybe head towards Texas. He hadn't been to Texas in a while.

It only took him a few minutes to pack his bags the next morning. It had stopped raining at some point in the night and the Impala glistened in the sunlight. Dean took it as a good sign.

He hit the road and headed to a small town in Northeastern Texas where some teenagers had been having accidents along a certain stretch of back road. According to the Associated Press, some of the locals attributed it to a ghost.

Having found what appeared to be a job in the direction he'd wanted to go anyway, Dean was in a better mood already. He was perhaps driving a little faster than he should, with the windows down and the radio near top volume. He sang along with Grand Funk Railroad and so what if he was a bit off key -- at least there wasn't a soul in the car to bitch at him for it. He thought of Dad rolling his eyes and Sam putting on his bitch face and began to sing louder and even more off key.

These antics amused him for about 50 miles before they got old and the boredom set in again. Another 50 miles later and he changed the station to something pop or top 40, or whatever they were calling it these days. He imagined it was the type of music Sam listened to in California.

The final nail in the coffin of his better mood struck when he finally got to Texas and he realized that he was going to need some more information which meant doing research. He eyed the dark clouds on the horizon that were threatening rain and decided that research sucked.

Although that was really a knee-jerk reaction. In fact, he nearly turned to the passenger seat to say something. He liked to complain about doing research, about stuffy libraries and dusty books. In reality, he didn't mind it so much. It wasn't the same sort of satisfaction he got from repairing the Impala or handcrafting silver bullets or anything, but there was still a certain amount of pleasure in discovering the answer and solving the riddle. Dad and Sam always saw Dean as the hands-on guy, but he did know how to do research.

It's just that Sam enjoyed it more, or was better at it. Or… whatever. Sam's face would light up when he figured something out and he'd turn to Dean with an animated "So, get this" and Dean hated to take that from the kid. But, Sam wasn't around... didn't want to be around.

He stopped at a diner off the main highway first. The rain was coming down fiercely now, creating rivers in the parking lot. But the diner seemed to be the only eating establishment open, so combine that with the homemade pie sign and it was kind of a no-brainer. The waitress wasn't young and pretty, but she was friendly and talkative, so Dean flirted anyway. Sam wasn't around to give him a hard time and Dad wasn't around to look at him all judgmentally - which, oddly enough, was also the way Sam looked at him when he flirted with women he had no intention of hooking up with. But they weren't here, so Dean smiled and chatted with Melanie, the plump waitress with two ex-husbands, three daughters and four cats. Lucky for him, one of her favorite subjects was the 'Ghost of Garrett Road'. He resisted the urge to call Sam and tell him that flirting paid off in intel.

Unfortunately, that intel didn't add up. According to Melanie, she'd heard at least seven versions of the story. The most popular was that it was the ghost of a frontier bride who had died when a stagecoach had overturned. In some folks minds it had a connection to the automobile accidents that were happening today. Another version was that it was the father of an Indian warrior who was avenging his son's death at the hands of the U.S. Calvary. The list went on, with most of them having no similarities and no common thread at all.

Usually when that happened, it meant that whatever was going on usually had a reasonable explanation. And reasonable explanations weren't really the Winchester's area of expertise. Dean looked around and recalled that he was flying solo. OK, well they weren't really Dean's area of expertise.

After a couple hours at the local library, Dean had decided the locals didn't know what they were talking about, but that he'd check out the stretch of road anyway. In his head, he could hear Sam telling him it was a waste of time and Dad urging him to be sure. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or irritated that he mentally sought their input even when they weren't around.

There'd never been a stagecoach on this piece of land and the calvary had never been here. The land had been homesteaded by Jeffery Garrett in 1873. Garrett was a veteran of the Civil War, from the southern side, and had moved out west with his sister, Amelia, after the war. They had first lived in San Antonio, but then applied for homesteading of 160 acres under Amelia's name. The land still belonged to the Garrett family and was still a working ranch, although most of the work was done by hired hands as the remaining Garrett's were in their 70's now. Nothing untoward had happened there. No unexplained deaths or mysterious disturbances.

You see, Garrett Road didn't really go anywhere. Except from town to the Garrett ranch. It wasn't even the main road the Garrett's used, but an old winding, dirt road that followed a stream and came in around the barn instead of the main house. If Dean's hunch was right, there were probably some great spots for partying along the road. And some great make out spots.

Dean drove slowly up Garrett Road. It was late afternoon and the sun was just starting to creep down over the ridge ahead. Despite all the recent rain, the road wasn't muddy. Along the ridge was a likely turnoff that seemed like it had seen a lot of tires lately. Dean pulled over and took a look around. Following a footpath that appeared new, he wandered about fifty feet to the stream. The rocky incline had given way to a stony beach that had seen quite a bit of use lately. A fire pit was off to one side and several logs were positioned for seating around it. Several empty beer cans and a few empty bottles of whisky were strewn around and off near the trees Dean found a pink lace bra.

Yup, a teenager's dream locale. He doubted the Garrett's had any idea.

Dean weighed his options and drove up to the main house. A woman with a kind face and a long grey braid opened the door.

"Mrs. Garrett?"

"Yes. May I help you?"

Dean politely explained the accidents and what he had found. He apologized for having intruded, but wanted to let them know what sort of thing had been going on. He kindly suggested that they may want to install a gate on the old road and post 'No Trespassing' signs.

While he'd been telling them of these things, Mr. Garrett had joined them.

"One them kids your family or something?"

"No, sir."

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, sir. I'm from Kansas."

"Not exactly close by."

"No, sir."

"So what interest is it of yours?"

Mrs. Garrett interrupted. "He's just being helpful, you don't need to interrogate him."

"I just want to know why he's involved."

"I'm not involved, sir. I was just passing through and heard the stories."

"Ate at the diner, did you?"

Dean smiled. "Yes, sir."

"Did you have the peach pie or the apple?"

"It isn't the season for peaches, sir. I had the apple."

"Well, I didn't realize kids were drinking there again. We used to drink there when I was a kid, it's really pretty secluded. Don't know how they found the place, but I'll get my foreman to get a gate installed. I'll also ask that he drive by there and keep an eye on it."

Dean nodded. He turned to go, feeling that he'd accomplished something at least. Even if he hadn't vanquished a ghost he might keep some kids from killing themselves.

Back in town, he was pulling into the diner parking lot debating between the roast beef special and the fried chicken when his cell phone rang. He flipped open the phone and saw it was his dad's number.

"Dad."

"Where the hell are you? I get back to find you checked out of our room."

"I'm in Texas."

"Texas? I thought I told you to stay put."

"No, actually you didn't, Dad. There was something I needed to check out."

John ignored him. "I came back to get you for a job."

Dean didn't have a chance to tell him about the teenagers or the Garrett's. "I can be there by tomorrow morning." Dean replied.

"Don't bother, there isn't time. I'll call in a hunter I know and pick him up on the way."

John hung up without telling Dean anything else. Alone, out of the loop, and with no idea where he was supposed to go, Dean sat in the car for an hour before he turned over the engine and pulled out towards the highway. As he crossed the state line, it started to rain.


End file.
